


Forever (Through the Millennia)

by WizardSandwich



Series: Transformers Self-Insert Fics [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Conjunx Endura, Corpse Looting, LIKE A REALLY BLATANT ONE, Multi, Other, Polyamory, Spark Sharing, i'm so sorry this is a blatant self-insert fic, kind of, the four acts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23620720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizardSandwich/pseuds/WizardSandwich
Summary: Wizard has gone through a lot of conjunx ritus throughout the years. None of them really stick.
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Self-Insert, Jazz/Prowl/Self-Insert, Jazz/Self-Insert, Lockdown/Self-Insert, Prowl/Self-Insert, Ratchet/Drift | Deadlock/Self-Insert, Ratchet/self-insert, Soundwave/Self-Insert
Series: Transformers Self-Insert Fics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1252994
Kudos: 11





	Forever (Through the Millennia)

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry this is such blatant self insert but a friend said it was good and so i got confidence points and therefore posted it

**_I. Ratchet – Act of Profference – 0.5 Million Years_ **

Wizard announced their departure from Ratchet’s service early in the cycle, vorns ago. Ratchet had almost thought it a joke at the time but their optics were serious and solemn. Ratchet had told them to hand in their resignation if they were serious.

He’d had weeks to prepare for this but there’s still a sinking feeling in his spark when Wizard hands him the datapad, transfer card in servo.

“Here you go, Ratch,” they say softly.

Ratchet accepts the datapad hesitantly. There’s a lot of things that he wishes he could say, all things considered. Wizard is one of the best things to happen to him, especially in this dead end clinic and with Primes vying for his attention. They’re a stable rock of bad jokes and even worse clumsiness.

“I’m going to miss you,” Wizard says, after a klik. “You gonna miss me too, big boy?”

Ratchet snorts at the prodding and sets the datapad down on his desk. He turns to face them, watching the way they pick at their paint and pull at their joints.

“Don’t do that,” he says, slapping one of their servos away from an exposed wire. “You know better than that.”

Wizard shrugs, “Yeah, well, what can you do?”

Ratchet sighs, offlining his optics for a moment. He says, “Look, we’ll still see each other. It’ll just be… less personal. Besides, we still have date night.”

Wizard rocks back on their heels. They look at him as if they’re trying to crack some code. It makes Ratchet feel put on the spot and he eagerly searches the room for a distraction.

“Oh,” he says, “I have something for you.”

Wizard’s brow furrows. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” they say, confusion seeping into their voice before they can even begin to stop it.

Ratchet, already having turned toward his desk, shrugs and keeps digging through the mess that he really should clean up. He knows that he set it somewhere nearby but he can’t remember exactly where.

He fishes the gift—a beautiful crystal that Ratchet had hassled Prowl for—out of the desk with a triumphant grin. He takes care not to let Wizard see it even as he turns around, keeping its cloth around it to shield if from their optics.

“Offline your optics,” Ratchet demands. “Hold out your servos.”

Wizard follows the order without questions, because they trust him. Their servos don’t cup together perfectly due to a design flaw that Ratchet could never really figure out how to fix, so Ratchet unwraps the crystal and takes special care to set the gift in the most upward facing of their servos.

“Alright, open.”

Wizard looks down at their servos. They’re quiet for a long moment, staring down at the crystal. It glows bright pink against their purple paint. To some, it would be a declaration. But for now it is a farewell.

“It’s lovely, Ratch,” Wizard says. They lift it to optic level to examine it. Their digits run all of the fragile edges. “Thank you.”

Ratchet says, “It’s the least I could do.”

And that is the truth. He wishes he could do more, wishes he could ask them to stay in this place, but they had to move on eventually. Besides, they’ll still have cycles off and coming home and being in love. This is not an ending.

But it feels like it.

**_II. Soundwave – Act of Devotion – 1.5 Million Years_ **

Wizard didn’t think it would come to this, to deciding which part of Cybertronian society to side with. And the Senate could call it a pointless fight, but Wizard knows what the truth is. Their awareness eats at their circuits and tears into their security.

“I have a choice to make, don’t I?” Wizard asks.

Soundwave, their current beau, stares down at them. His visor is bright red and seeks them in a way that they wish it didn’t. They do not want to make this choice and they cannot hide that from him.

“Yes,” he says.

Wizard’s grip on their energon cube tightens and they stare into it as if it could reveal the secrets of the universe to them. They almost want to throw the thing, if only to get the tight ball of emotion in their chest to unravel.

They’re silent for almost a breem before they say anything, “What happens if I don’t choose, Soundwave?”

There’s war on the horizon and they know that neutrality is practically a non-option. They can’t imagine Megatron letting them get away with it. They can’t imagine _Soundwave_ letting them get away with it.

Wizard looks up at Soundwave then, when he doesn’t say anything. They wonder if the uncertainty reads on their face, the fear.

“I’m scared,” they admit to him. “I’m so scared that I’ll make the wrong decisions.”

They think Soundwave understands, based on the way he rests his servo on their shoulder. And part of them knows the decision that they’ll make already, but they cannot justify betrayal to themselves. They cannot justify the feeling of loss.

Wizard stares at him for another moment and then they fold their visor away. They’d follow Soundwave anywhere, they decide, as long as he’d let them. “Tell me I’m making the right decision,” they almost beg, “when I follow you, when I follow Megatron.”

Soundwave would never lie to them. “Decision: for the best.”

**_III. Lockdown – Act of Profference – 2.2 Million Years_ **

“Hey, little bot, get over here!” Lockdown yells toward the lump of metal that’s been decorating his ship.

Said lump of metal—Wizard—huffs at them, opening their mouth to complain before thinking better of it. “What do you need, oh captain o’ mine?”

Lockdown rolls his optics and gestures toward the corpse on his arm. “Get a table ready,” he commands.

“Gross,” Wizard says as they turn away from him. They dutifully make their way back to the set of tables where the various mods Lockdown has collected from his latest bounties sit. “You’re really lucky I was assigned here or you’d be doing this yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m really lucky to have your lazy aft,” Lockdown mutters.

Wizard clears of the table with the sweep of their arm and Lockdown has half the mind to smack them. As it is, he carelessly drops the dead mech in front of them just to see them cringe. Heh, for a field medic _and_ a sniper, they acted as if they’d never seen a dead body before.

“You’re horrible,” Wizard says to him.

Lockdown shrugs, already beginning the careful process of tearing a mech apart with the tool that surround him.

“You’re going to ruin the t-cog,” Wizard informs, as if he hasn’t been at this for the whole war.

Lockdown growls. Honestly, they should be grateful. He went through all this trouble for them. Not that they know that yet, but they will eventually. But if they kept being mouthy they wouldn’t know it at all.

Still, he slows himself. No matter the mod, he could sell the t-cog to the DJD for a pretty price. Even if it does take him longer to find what he’s looking for.

Amidst the gore, he find a pretty internal mod. He pulls it out, admiring it for a moment. It’s a sleek thing, a cloaking device unable to truly be disarmed without the mech in question being torn to shreds. Lockdown might’ve kept it to himself, but, unfortunately, it only worked at a long distance.

“Here,” he tosses it to Wizard.

They just barely catch it, slick energon making it almost slip from their servos. They look confused and disgusted at they stare at the thing.

“What’s this for?” they ask him, surprise evident.

Lockdown really wants to smack them now. “Well, usually, there’s an order to these kind of things,” he says snidely.

“An order? To what?” they ask.

Lockdown is pretty sure he got paired with the stupidest Decepticon in the ranks. He says, “The Four Acts, idiot.”

Wizard stares at him like they’ve been offered an epiphany. “Ah.”

**_IV. Deadlock – Act of Intimacy – 3.1 Million Years_ **

Wizard and Deadlock have long grown used to spending time wrapped around each other. Deadlock is bigger than Wizard, so they spend a lot of time in his lap, his helm resting on top of theirs. They’d complain about it but it makes them happy so they can’t really find a reason to.

Deadlock’s thumb presses into their hip plating, rubbing gentle circles when he asks, “Hey, do you want to see my spark?”

Perhaps Wizard should be surprised by the question, but it has been a long time coming. Decepticons, with few exceptions, seldom trusted anyone—conjunx or amica—with that kind of thing. They and Deadlock have trusted each other for longer than most.

“Do you wanna show it to me?” they ask, tilting their helm to look up at him. His red optics meet theirs and he smiles.

“Move,” he says, shoving them off.

Wizard does not take the roughness with offense, long used to rough handling. Lockdown had done more than enough of it.

Deadlock does not waste any time. His chestplates come unlocked with a click and a bright light floods the room. His spark is a beautiful thing to behold, bright and lovely. Wizard wants to touch it, to cradle it in their servos and stare in awe.

“Can I—” they start then stop helplessly.

Deadlock stares at them as if considering and then he nods. Wizard scrambles forward, placing themselves in Deadlock’s lap and leaning forward to look at the life of the mech they love. Out of all their partners, the only one they had never seen was Lockdown’s, but, nonetheless, each one was a gift and a sight to see.

Wizard’s servos raise and they frame the cavity of Deadlock’s chest with them. They reach in and trace the hole in his sparkchamber with their digits. Deadlock’s vents hitch. They pay no mind to the reaction and he does not tell them to stop.

Carefully, they brush their digits against the edge of his spark. There is awe and reverence and love. They can only hope that he knows how much this means to them.

“I love you,” they say to him and they watch his spark quiver in affection.

**_V. Jazz – Act of Disclosure – 3.5 Million Years_ **

“Life sucks,” Wizard says, sitting next to Jazz—Maestro for the sake of the mission.

“What’s the problem?” Jazz asks. It’s not unusual for them to complain like this, but he’s never quite seen them so tense. It almost makes him upset but he’s incredibly good at compartmentalizing.

Wizard stares at their servos for a moment, watching themselves. “You know those cycles where you just keep remembering everything you ever did wrong? Ever?”

It’s an odd question, one Wizard has never asked him before. It makes something in his spark swell, as assumptions come to mind. He almost thinks that this means that they trust him more than before. Granted, they were often to trusting for a Decepticon.

“’Course,” he says honestly, because he does. Every time he slips into recharge’s grasp. He does not verbalize the thoughts of trust. “Tell me about it?” he asks.

Wizard looks contemplative for all of a moment. Then they say, “For a long time, I thought that being a Decepticon was fine. I was a medic and an assistant and I thought that I’d stay that way, you know? Even as things got worse.” They pause, nodding to themselves. “It was a really stupid thought process.”

Wizard readjusts their position to lean back and rest on their elbows. The new position makes the light hit their face in a way that makes them look particularly pretty, highlighting the lines and planes that make them and the scars that they can’t seem to stop poking.

“So, anyway, some Decepticon—I say some Decepticon, but it was Starscream— _Starscream_ slapped a rifle in my servos and basically told me to go wild. Which, not fun. He was my amica, you know?” A piece of information for Jazz to file away for later. “And Megatron had essentially sent me to him so I could get combat training.”

Wizard doesn’t sound too mad at the fact. It was war, after all, they’d probably justified it all to themselves. Then they say, “The first Autobot I ever killed was a medic,” and Jazz can hear their voice shake. “It was my first mission and he was right there. And I killed him, because that’s what you do when the war forces you to and things go to the Pit. I knew him too.”

“I remember,” Wizard says distantly, “the look on his face before he fell over. The way his optics dimmed and how horrified he was to realize he was dying. In another lifetime, I think we would have been friends.”

Jazz watches their expression twist into some mixture of horror and disgust. He thinks it’s aimed at themselves. Before he can think any better of it, he wraps an arm around their waist and pulls them closer. He strokes a doorwing in an attempt at comfort. It takes a long time for them to relax into Jazz’s arms.

**_VI. Prowl – Act of Profference – 5.5 Million Years_ **

“I want you to have this,” Wizard says, setting the trinket on Prowl’s desk.

It’s a beautiful thing, a sigil designed to look like a turbofox constellation. It has blue gems for the stars that contrast the silver metal that made it up. It’s meant to be welded onto a mech’s armor and never taken off.

“Why are you bringing me this?” Prowl asks. He picks it up carefully, as not to break it, but it’s obvious by the craftsmanship that the piece is meant to last and withstand.

“I’m leaving on the Lost Light,” Wizard says, as if Prowl does not know that already. He has looked at the roster by now. “I wanted to give you a promise that I’d come back. And I know it’s out of order but… well?”

They smile sheepishly at him, servos gripping the edge of his desk anxiously. He can see the way their grip tightens and loosens as they stand.

Prowl is designed for quick calculation and solving problems and understanding so he _gets_ it. “Are you proposing we become conjunx?” he asks quietly.

“It would seem so,” Wizard tells him, smile growing more genuine but even more unsure. “I had one of the neutrals make that out of my Decepticon sigil.” They tap the blank space on their chest that quite clearly needs a repaint. There is no sigil to be found. “I thought it’d make you happy.”

Prowl’s spark swells. Honestly, he isn’t entirely opposed to the idea. What had broken he and Wizard apart during their short stint together wasn’t incompatibility or lack of desire, but the simple lack of time.

He leans across the desk to grab one of their servos in his own. “I think you need a repaint,” he chokes out, instead of anything substantial. It is odd for him to be overcome with emotion like this.

“Yeah,” Wizard says and he thinks that they understand what he wants to say. “I think I do. Wanna help me out?”

“Of course,” Prowl says.

**_VII. Jazz – Act of Devotion– 5.5 Million Years (Original Universe)_ **

“Has anyone ever really pinned you down?” Jazz asks, sliding into the seat beside them.

Wizard huffs out a laugh. “That’s the wrong question,” they say. “I’ve never been able to get anyone to stay.”

It’s not exactly a true statement. Sometimes staying meant abandoning a promotion, a post, an order, a life. Sometimes leaving meant giving Wizard more freedom. Sometimes, it was just how it was. But none of them had stayed for Wizard and Wizard hadn’t stayed for them either.

“Maybe,” Jazz says. “You know, once upon a time, I thought you and Ratchet might get yourselves back together.”

Wizard can’t really find anything to say to that. Ratchet loved them still, yes, but far be it from Wizard to ruin whatever thing he had going on with Drift.

“The cookie didn’t crumble that way,” Wizard says, use of Earth slang distinct and obvious.

Jazz looks amused at it, at the very least, “No, I suppose it didn’t. But you didn’t rekindle any of your old flames?”

Wizard shrugs, thinking of the sigil they’d given Prowl, but the mech hadn’t come to speak with them since the Lost Light had returned to Cybertron. “I don’t think they’d want to,” they say.

“Fair, I suppose,” Jazz says.

Jazz looks contemplative for a moment, before it shifts into an unknown nervousness that no Decepticon has ever known him for.

“I have a confession to make,” he says.

“Oh?” Wizard asks. “I can’t imagine what you’d have to confess to little ol’ me. We hardly know each other.

Jazz’s gaze shifts to the side. “That’s the thing. You know me better than you might think.”

Wizard straightens, suddenly consumed by curiosity. They say, “Do tell.”

They’re practically leaning forward in their seat when Jazz speaks. “Do you remember Maestro?” Jazz asks, hesitance clear.

And Wizard does. They remember comfort and kind servos, the press of a kiss against their helm, the grip of digits in their own. They remember him as much as they remember every one of their conjunxes.

“Yes,” they say simply.

Jazz nods and then silently holds out his servo. In his palm sits a tuner that Wizard had had to bribe Scrapper into making. It looks worn, but well cared for. The sight of it makes Wizard’s vents stall.

“How did you get this?” they ask him.

“How do you think?” Jazz asks.

Wizard’s processor connects the dots at the speed of light.

“You killed him?” Wizard almost snarls out. Jazz flinches. In their processor that confirms it. “Why did you come here to tell me that?” they ask.

Jazz shakes his helm quickly, clearly scrambling to pull together some semblance of explanation. “No, Wizard, sweetspark, you’ve got it all wrong.” He speaks in a rush. Wizard can barely pick it up. “That’s not it at all.”

Wizard can’t shake the anger, so when they speak it comes out harsh and unfair. “Then what is it?”

Jazz sighs, setting the tuner down. “I’m Spec Ops,” he says. “I’ve had a lot of covers. Maestro was just another one of them.”

The anger flares to life again as another thought comes shoving to the forefront of Wizard’s mind. The thought that Jazz—Maestro—had been playing the game he’d been assigned to play.

“I see,” Wizard says, a bit coldly. They do not think it’s unfair of them.

“Hey, wait, no, Wiz,” Jazz scrambles again. “It wasn’t like _that_ either, no matter what you think. And don’t deny that you’re thinking it. I genuinely loved you. If I was going to use anyone, it wouldn’t have been you.”

The explanation is sloppy and crumbly, but it soothes them, just a bit. To know that Jazz wouldn’t have used them is a relief. To know that he actually loved them? It’s like the sudden weight they’d come by had never gotten the chance to bring them down.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” they say, after a long moment.

Jazz’s face falls again. They can’t read his expression, really, but they think it is regret. “I’m sorry,” Jazz says. “I didn’t think to. Then I had to leave and it was all a mess that I couldn’t fix.”

Wizard considers that. “Well, maybe you can fix it now.”

They offer their servo to him and he takes it.

**_VIII. Prowl – Act of Profference – 5.5 Million Years (Original Universe)_ **

Prowl comes to them late at night. He knows he looks tired and rugged and exhausted when he knocks on the door to Wizard’s habsuite. But this truly cannot be put off any longer.

“Hello, Wizard,” he greets, when they open the door for him.

Wizard looks surprised to see him. That will not do. He will have to fix it later.

“Hello, Prowl,” Wizard echoes back.

“May I come in?” Prowl asks, doorwings lifting in his apprehension.

Wizard steps to the side the second he asks. They’ve never been someone to reject someone that they love, unless for the most dire of reasons.

“Thank you,” he says, as he steps inside.

Their habsuite is one of the newer ones, built to erase the traces of Functionism by the citizens of New Cybertron. The walls are almost blank but the shelves are filled with the kind of knickknacks that Wizard has always collected, figures and crystals and datapads.

“Hey, Wizard,” comes a call from another room, a voice Prowl easily recognizes at Jazz’s, “who is it?”

“Prowl,” Wizard calls back, pressing the button that makes the door slide shut.

“Alright, so three cubes?” Jazz asks.

Wizard nods silently for a moment before seemingly realizing that Jazz can’t see them. “Yeah,” they yell to him.

Then they turn back to Prowl. They gesture to the plush, organically made couch, likely acquired from the Galactic Council’s trade deals.

“Take a seat, if you want,” they say, not an order but a suggestion.

Prowl nods, sitting down. Wizard stands there awkwardly for a second before Prowl pats the spot beside him, raising his optical ridge. Wizard seems to get the message, sitting down in the next moment.

“So, uh,” Wizard starts, “did I do something wrong?”

Prowl frowns at them. He doesn’t know why they assume they are in trouble, but it would be best to clear that up now. “No,” he denies. “You didn’t.”

Wizard nods, looking toward the doorway that assumedly led to their energon dispensary unit.

“I came to ask if you’d like to continue our courtship,” Prowl says, steering the conversation forward.

Wizard looks even more surprised than before. “Really?” they ask.

“Of course,” Prowl says. “I don’t leave anything half-finished. Especially not something as important as this.” He pauses and considers for a moment. “You still want to, correct?”

Wizard opens their mouth to speak, but Jazz slides into the room then. It’s clear, with his specialized audials, that he’s heard all of the conversation. He sets the energon cubes down on the table, but hands Wizard theirs.

“Don’t stop the conversation on my account,” Jazz says casually as he sits at Wizard’s side.

Wizard looks up at Jazz. They seem to find what they want to find in his expression. “Jazz and I are conjunx,” Wizard says.

Prowl freezes, halfway to picking up his energon. “I see,” he says. “Then I suppose you’re rejecting my proposal?”

“No,” Jazz says, when Wizard doesn’t speak. “They’re not. They’d be happy to have you.”

Wizard looks relieved that they don’t have to attempt to explain. “I love you both dearly,” they say.

Prowl nods, understanding. While not common, triads were not an uncommon conjunx formation either.

“Then,” Prowl says, pulling a small gem from his subspace—another addition to Wizard’s collection—“It only seems right that I continue our suite by continuing where we left off.”

Wizard accepts it and holds it gently, “I thought we were on Disclosure.”

“Easing back in,” Jazz says, nodding approvingly. “Good idea.”

The words are more for Wizard’s benefit than either of theirs, because then they nod in understanding. “Alright.”

**_IX. Ratchet & Drift – Act of Intimacy – 5.5 Million Years (Alternate Universe)_ **

Ratchet and Drift are practically conjunx when they come back to the Lost Light. Wizard is happy for them. They both deserve the kind of happiness that they’ve found in one another. They’re just kind of stupid and pining, because they always are. Parts of them remember being in love with them both and being loved in return.

Pining is the worst emotion Wizard knows, they think.

“You look stupid,” Whirl says. “Quit staring at the power couple over there or leave. You’re ruining my drink.”

Wizard makes a face at him, sipping their energon pointedly.

“He’s kind of right,” Tailgate says. “You’re sulking.”

Wizard feels their defensiveness rise to the surface. “I am not. Besides, Cyclonus was _worse.”_

 _“Cyclonus,_ ” Whirl starts, looking over at the mech in question with a sharp optic, “wasn’t already half-conjunxed to his object of affection.”

Cyclonus raises an optical ridge, but doesn’t comment on anything Whirl says.

“Yeah, go talk to them, Wiz,” Tailgate encourages.

Wizard bites back a sigh, knocking back their only cube of highgrade. It’s not liquid courage, it doesn’t set fire to their lines and make them braver. They don’t feel any different at all. They still feel sad and pine-y and stupid, like they always do.

“I’ve got to set up a medical appointment anyway,” Wizard grumbles loudly.

Whirl slaps them on the back as they stand, causing them to stumble forward and grip the table to keep their balance. It takes them a moment to get back straight on their pedes.

Drift and Ratchet are at the bar, a seat free beside them that Rodimus recently vacated. They slide onto it without preamble.

“Hey, Wizard,” Drift greets. “How many cubes have you had?”

Wizard makes a face at the question, but holds up their index digit. Drift nods in satisfaction, “Good.”

Wizard is silent for a moment before turning toward them. “Hey, Ratch, got a free spot for an appointment tomorrow?” they ask.

Ratchet looks up from sipping his cube. “Yeah. Need a checkup?”

“You know it,” Wizard says, grinning at him. “I was told I couldn’t check up on myself.”

Ratchet nods, “You shouldn’t. Just come by any time.”

Wizard nods, falling silent. They feel the imagined weight of that crystal from so long ago in their subspace. It is worn now, older than it has right to be, but Wizard likes to think they’ve cared for it well. They consider themselves and consider it, then reach into their subspace.

Drift is clearly interested in what Wizard is reaching for, his optics watching them as they do. Wizard pulls out the crystal, the color long faded.

“Here,” they say, reaching across the bar to set it in front of Ratchet.

Ratchet looks surprised to see it. “You kept it?” he asks, almost too quiet to be heard.

“Of course,” Wizard says, “but I think now’s the time to give it back, you know?”

Ratchet stares at it for another moment before pushing it back toward them. “It’s yours. Keep it.”

Drift looks a bit confused as he looks at it but understanding quickly dawns on him. Wizard thinks that they’re probably comming about it.

“Is this the part where I tell you both to stop being stupid?” Drift asks, somewhat amused. “Because I’m pretty sure we all like each other enough.”

“You’re not wrong,” Wizard says. “On my end, at least.”

Ratchet nods, knocking back his cube. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” he says.

Wizard cannot help that they practically preen when Drift places his arm around their shoulders, even if Whirl’s catcalling makes them want to go and punch him.


End file.
